Mrs. Penniman stopped, looking at him very solemnly.
"My poor Morris, do you know how much she loves you."
"No, I don't. I don't want to know. I have always tried to keep from knowing. It would be too painful."
"She will suffer much," said Mrs. Penniman.
"You must console her. If you are as good a friend to me as you pretend to be, you will manage it."
Mrs. Penniman shook her head, sadly.
"You talk of my 'pretending' to like you; but I can't pretend to hate you. I can only tell her I think very highly of you; and how will that console her for losing you?"
"The Doctor will help you. He will be delighted at the thing being broken off, and, as he is a knowing fellow, he will invent something to comfort her."
"He will invent a new torture!" cried Mrs. Penniman. "Heaven deliver her from her father's comfort. It will consist of his crowing over her and saying, 'I always told you so!'"
Morris coloured a most uncomfortable red.
